English Rose
by meowtimesnine
Summary: Years after the Fabricated World, Eve meets a sullen Garry again, who causes her to remember the Fabricated World and ultimately lead her back into it.
1. Memories

**Chapter One: Memories**

The edge of the pencil dragged along the canvas, leaving behind a beautiful sketch in its wake. Students watched with envy, trying to mimic her smooth movements and effortless drawing. A boy, with roses, was spilled onto the page, and Eve walked to the front of the classroom to get paints.

"Are you still working on your Memories project, Eve?" Her teacher was pretty, like a pastry, with curly blonde hair and rosy cheeks. She was rather plump, round and sugary sweet.

Eve nodded, grabbing a box full of tubes. The strong smell of paint flooded her nostrils.

"If you don't mind my asking, who is that boy you've been so intently sketching this past week?"

She shrugged; starting towards the easel strategically placed at the back window, where she could stare outside and smell the cool breeze that rolled along the British countryside.

A dollop of red paint was splattered onto her glass palette. She dipped a thin brush into the mixture, flooding a sketch of a rose with color. She shaded it expertly, with the likes of a famous artist. Ever since that fateful day when she was nine, roses and that boy had been plastered into her every waking thought but she didn't know why.

Her body slacked as memories washed over her in a stuffy blanket.

"_What's in your pocket, Evie?"_

_The blonde watched gleefully as Mary drew a piece of candy from her pocket. It was wrapped in a glistening piece of plastic, and as Eve went to push it through her lips, Mary grabbed it and gobbled it down, crumpling up the wrapper and throwing it at her mother, who sighed angrily and held the cellophane in her hand._

_She didn't know why, but for some reason, the small little girl whose candy had just been stolen burst into tears and cried. She cried for a long time, and her mother tried to calm her down. Mary grabbed her hand and held it there for a few moments, and said something sweet._

"_I'll take you to the candy shop, I promise, okay? I'll get you better candy then what you had before."_

_She shook her head, and eyes full of tears, she looked out the window – anything to divert the attention away from her swollen face, and watched a man walk down the road, playing with a lighter. He looked strange, and brought on a saddening feeling of nostalgia. _

_She watched him weave through traffic and get lost in the middle of the road, and then appear on the other side of honking cars. He had a smile on his face._

Why had she felt as if she'd seen him before? Met him, maybe in a past life that had been dimmed and left her dazed and confused, clutching at nothingness?

Eve hadn't realized she'd been painting, leaving the brush lingering on the canvas. It was flooded with colors, vibrant and beautiful, and she sighed. She never seemed to remember painting, the same way she hadn't remembered the boy from long ago.

**OoO**

She left the bus, lightly tapping her black boots against the stone pavement, watching her reflection in the glass windows of shoppes and cafés. She'd gotten quite tall over the past years, growing slender and filling herself out into premature curves. Her clothes were all snug now, fitting tight against her porcelain skin, and her hair spilled down her back into chocolate locks, pin straight, neat and tidy.

"Mother, I'm home," she called, her voice a soft whisper in the warm air.

"Eve! I'm glad you're home; your art teacher called and said you were ready to bring your painting home today. I've got the frame ready in the kitchen."

She approached her small kitchen, with green cabinets and white appliances, smelling of fresh apple pie and air freshener. Her mother sat in the kitchen, hair up in a bun, striped with silver.

The frame was set up on the table. It was oak, very simple and quaint, obviously meant to match their living room, even though Eve would have preferred this to be a more personal piece.

"Let's take a picture for your art blog, darling," she smiled, grabbing Eve's digital camera off a countertop. It was red, with a black phone charm dangling off the side, a small bead encompassing a red rose.

She snapped pictures of the canvas, featuring the boy holding a handful of multicolored roses up to the Lady in Red, who clawed viciously away at the petals, but one stayed intact, a simple miracle, blossoming and branching away from the others, bathed in divine light.

A blue rose.

Eve wasn't exactly sure why she had painted the woman breaking away from the frame and snapping her jaws at the roses. The Lady in Red was admired by all, a beautiful masterpiece of a simple woman. Somehow, when she visited the museum, she would stare into her red eyes and feel this cold sense of dread flooding her body, and she would tear her gaze away, quickening her pace down the hall. Once, she'd lingered after hours, tagging along behind a worker who promised to let her out after his shift, she'd seen the heads, pasty white, with beady eyes and red lips, that brought stinging pain and agony searing in her veins.

"Eve, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." Her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, and the brunette turned away.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

She hadn't realized her body was shaking until she drew her jacket tighter around her frame.

Her mother snapped away, taking photos of the painting until Eve was overwhelmed by the flash and excused herself to her room.

She really loved her room. A small bed with a black frame and a scarlet duvet was tucked into one corner, a black desk with a white laptop on the surface was against the wall, and a long, skinny dresser was pushed against next to the door, a TV on the top and a pile of clothes she'd forgotten to put away the day before.

Other than the clothes, her room was neat and tidy, just the way she liked it. She had two pillows on her bed, one big, fluffy red one and a black one shaped like a cat, and they were always pin straight, aligned with her covers. Her gray carpet was never stained, and she always vacuumed it on Sunday afternoons, blasting British rock bands.

She wondered what music the boy at the museum liked. Did he like books or movies? Classical music or rock? He was very quiet, but Eve could sense he was probably talkative with people he liked.

Her mind drifted away into sweet thoughts, her feet being lured towards her bed, where she collapsed and let a breath she hadn't realized she was holding escape. She fumbled for her CD player with one hand, tugging a fluffy throw blanket over her body with the other.

Eve sat, listening to music quietly, tracing the stitching on her cat pillow. It had crazy, big green eyes and a coy smile, but Eve liked to hug it close and let her eyes droop as sleep brushed against her cheeks.

A loud knocking awoke her, and she sprung up, sprawling the blanket on the floor and sending the pillow headfirst to the carpet.

"Eve, Mary's come to see you!" Her dad called from the other side, continuing the harsh rapping on the door. "She wanted to see your painting."

The brunette rolled from her bed, placing her socked feet on the carpet, the delightfully plush material spreading it's warmth between her toes.

"I'm coming," she murmured softly. Her tone was so gentle and sweet, but it was agitated. Why did she hate when her sister came to visit? She was so pretty, fresh, and two years older than her…she should respect her.

The blonde came darting into her room, clad in a green skirt and stylish white top. Her curls were up in a ponytail, spilling down her back in everlasting spirals. Her ears glistened with expensive jewels, probably from her latest boyfriend. She was…needless to say, beautiful.

Eve had heard from many people how attractive she was, with chocolate hair and ruby eyes, but she was forever in the shadow of her sister, whose beauty surpassed even her mother's. Her face was still ever so youthful. As if it hadn't changed from those many years ago, at the art gallery, where she'd snatched the lemon candy away from her hand, gobbling it and smiling an evil grin.

Maybe it wasn't so evil, but she had taking away that nostalgic piece of candy, rightfully hers, that made her head throb with pain, as if something was trying to thrust realization upon her.

She felt her fingers tracing her lips over and over, trying to imagine what that sweet piece of mouth watering candy would feel like passing through her lips. Mary threw her body at Eve, wrapping her arms tight around her in a vise-like grip.

"I missed you! Living in London with Brandon is so _lonely," _she whined. "He's always at like, work, and I never get to see you!"

Eve nodded in understanding. Her fingertips lingered in Mary's ponytail, pulling loose corkscrew curls she'd envied so much as a child. Now, Mary just looked immature with her curly hair, and her glittering blue-green irises that sparkled with such a light that they left Eve feeling nauseous.

"I missed you too," the words fell from her mouth with no emotion at all, into a thin puddle of meaningless words she'd always said to reassure her sister. Simple things like, _you look pretty today, _and _did you have a nice day at school? _Were becoming harder and harder to say as Mary grew older. Even the things that should mean something to her were dwindling. _I love you. _

That was the hardest one. Knowing she was lying hurt her inside.

She made her way downstairs, her fingers laced through Mary's, and they made small talk, friendly banter than sickened her to the core. Occasionally, she would laugh and smile, but that grin started to fade, slip away, on tiny threads of her patience, and Eve finally excused herself to her room, slamming herself into her chair.

She threw open her laptop, logging into her art blog and scrolling through the photos. Her mother had updated them from the downstairs desktop, and Eve suppressed a laugh at how immature and irresponsible she thought Eve was.

There were such positive comments, she smiled, replying to some, and smiling at others. It was her most popular picture by far. Some of her fans went as far to ask if the man in the painting was her beau. Eve felt the blood swell to her head, and her cheeks grew red and hot.

She stopped at one, eyeing the comment with such an intense look if you had tapped her on the shoulder, she'd have snapped and shrieked.

_Anonymous_

_I don't mean to worry you, but the man in this painting is me._

And her cursor flashed in the white box, trying to figure out what to say, when she laughed at her gullibility.

_EnglishRose_

_Sorry, but I don't believe you._

When she entered the comment, she jumped back at the sudden 'bing,' of a reply.

_Anonymous_

_I believe we met at Guertena's art gallery seven years ago. I was looking at the Hanged Man painting and you asked me if I had seen your parents._

A gasp strangled itself from her throat, and she leapt away from her seat, knocking over her chair as she crouched in the fetal position at her bed.

The exotic man.

The man with lavender hair.

The man she'd met seven years ago.

The man she'd longed to meet again remembered her.

And she crawled towards her laptop hesitantly, flinching as her porcelain fingertips brushed against the cool surface. They examined every key, rolling across them before finding the letters that seemed to type themselves. The glowing screen illuminated her dark room.

A girl, hunched over her laptop, a wicked grin on her face, furiously asking for answers and information, anything she could milk from this stranger.

The conversation went from comments to private messages, emails to texts, and finally a phone call.

Eve held the phone tight to her face, hearing her breath in the speaker. It was rough, rattling, and scary, and the thought of a growling Lady in Red sent goose bumps rippling across her alabaster skin.

"Hello?" The voice was so smooth and milky, with a masculine depth that made her cheeks grow hot.

"This is Eve," she said, her words slurred and slow. Everything seemed to come to a standstill as she waited for his voice to calm her down.

"Do you remember the Fabricated World?"

She was silent, shaking her head before the realization she wasn't talking face to face with him dawned upon her.

"No. I know it's one of Guertena's pieces, but I don't exactly remember anything special about it."

"I thought so."

The soft sound of breathing filled the receiver, and Eve whispered something soft, barely audible.

"Sir, do you know why I painted the Lady in Red?"

"When you were younger, she wanted to…how should I put this? Hurt you, yes, she wanted to hurt you."

There was a small span of silence, filled with gentle breathing and the static of a long distance phone call.

"Do you know a girl named Mary?"

She paused for a moment. "Mary is my sister."

Eve heard the soft noise of the man gripping his phone tighter in his palm. "I see. Tell her Garry sends his condolences for her loss."

"What loss…?"

"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, miss. Nothing at all."

And the conversation blossomed from there, Eve slowly relaxing onto her bed, wrapping the throw around herself and burrowing her full head of chocolate hair, and letting sleep hug her gently, she fell unconscious with Garry on the other line, who listened to her soft snore, hanging up the phone.

"It looks like I have a little friend to visit in England," he spat, throwing his coat around his body. "And we have a hell of a lot to talk about."

**OoO**

I have played Ib like a million times now. I play the Japanese version, because, well, I'm taking Japanese and I needed to practice so I'm sorry that I use the Japanese variant of Ib. 'Eve' in Japanese is 'Ibu' and they translated this into 'Ib' but I feel more comfortable using what I was taught in Japanese class, so I'm sorry if you were confused. I hope you enjoyed the story, there is much romance to come, and action and scary stuff that keeps making me look over my shoulder lol. I feel like the Lady in Red is watching me, or I have a mannequin on my shoulder lol. *Looks over shoulder* well, please review, and I LOVE YOU ALL SMOOCHES BYE.

-meowtimesnine


	2. Macaroons and Mary

**Chapter Two: Macaroons and Mary**

The exotic man sat in a booth at the corner café, pushing around a plate of pink and blue macaroons. It was raining outside. He dreaded the rain. It was cold and wet and ugly and gray. Soft music lulled in the background, drowned out impartially by the giggles and coos of a couple seated at the table in front of him.

The tinkling of bells alarmed him. Was she here?

He looked up.

No, it was just a woman coming in with her son to pick out a snack. The boy grinned as he surfed through the racks of sweets and fineries, pressing his nose against the crystalline glass and leaving sticky handprints and condensed drops of breath. He liked little kids despite their general messiness.

The little boy left with a cone of roasted, glazed chestnuts, steaming and smelling heavenly. He couldn't fathom it – how could you choose chestnuts if there was an option between that and macaroons?

A cool breeze came into the café along with the smell of rain and the jingling of bells.

It was her.

The blonde, sashaying in her long coat over to him. At first, she almost seemed a bit…scared. A flicker of fright went through her eyes as she sat down. A stony expression set in.

"Well, well, well," she purred, taking a macaroon off of the plate with her long nails and popping it into her mouth, "Never thought I'd see you again, Garry."

He had to restrain himself. "You don't know how fucking long I was trapped there, you bitch."

"I'm over five hundred years old, and I was there my entire life up until seven years ago."

There was silence between them, and Garry shoved the plate towards Mary. He didn't want something she'd soiled.

"How is she?"

Mary grabbed a pink macaroon and broke it in half before taking a nibble off the side.

"Eve? The same. Sweet, quiet, reserved, beautiful. I don't think she likes me much anymore. When she's forced to say something to me she looks miserable."

He smiled. Trust good ol' Eve to make him feel good.

"Has she started to remember anything? Has she remembered what kind of hell you put me through?"

"Nothing. She remembers nothing. She still has feelings, though, like her forgotten memories make her hate me and love you."

He watched a fat emerald sparkle on her ear as she turned. Resting her chin in her palm, she whispered something.

"If it came down to me, her sister, and you, a stranger, she'd pick you. It's instinct."

The couple sat in silence, Mary playing with her earring and sometimes taking a bite of a macaroon. Her muscles tensed up, and he watched, ever so carefully.

Her small hand recoiled from her ear. Was that…?

It was.

A small chip of paint flaked and fell onto the table.

Mary brushed it aside dismissively.

"If you want to save her, you'll have to do it soon. I'm dying, Garry, and before I go, Eve has to."

He grabbed her wrist. Hard. Her skin was fleshy on the outside, but as his hand burrowed deeper into her flesh, it was gritty, like plaster, or chipping paint.

"Don't you dare touch her, Mary. I'll kill you, I swear, I'll kill you if you hurt her."

She didn't even blink. Those cold, hard, ice blue orbs were blank and full of hatred.

"I'd watch it, Garry. Your existence is like a game of poker and I have all your chips."

He released his grip on her wrist and settled back down.

"Before we start the game, can I see Eve? Just once, to try and make her remember."

She pondered this a moment, finishing her final macaroon. The pink crumbs stuck to her lipstick.

"I do care for her, you know. If you hurt her then I'll just have all the more reason to kill her."

"W-What…?"

"You are practically the same age now. I'm predicting some romance, and they say that true love never dies…but I'm thinking yours will."

"I'd never…never," He was trying to figure out if he should say he would never hurt or never fall in love with her, but the words fell dead on his lips and fell, much like the petals of his rose had so long ago.

"Getting rid of her would cause you such agony. I'd love to watch you go crazy knowing your precious Eve was dead and it was your fault."

He watched as she dropped money onto the table from her wallet, tucking it back into her purse before making her leave.

He didn't want to take her money. It was dirty. He went to ball it up and throw it away, but a scrap of paper piqued his interest.

_Dagger to the chest and soul grows cold_

_Emptiness fills and swallows her whole_

_Soul drags her crashing down_

_Lying in a pool of blood, she drowns_

**OoO**

Thank you for reading, my lovely dovely angels. I'm dreadfully sorry this took such a long time but I have really bad writer's block…this is by far the most popular story I've ever written and I fully intend to finish this. Again, thank you for your amazing patience.

-meowtimesnine


	3. Shall We Dance?

**Chapter Three: Shall We Dance?**

"Eve! Come downstairs, I've got your mail!"

The brunette scraped the chair against the red carpet, standing up and feeling the pencil holding back her hair fall loose and let the ends brush against her back. She didn't bother to pick it up. She was feeling really drained recently, more than usual, because when Mary stayed at her small English apartment, she was plagued by nightmares of a black box full of Guertena's works and a shadowy figure walking towards her. She'd wake up drenched in sweat – but she always painted better when she was scared.

She went downstairs, clad in sweatpants and a ratty painting shirt she always wore while she worked on pieces.

"What is it?" She breathed, raking her fingers through her hair and pulling it over her shoulder.

Her mother was sitting at the kitchen counter, pushing aside bills. She'd never been one for doing math. Or dealing with money, for that matter.

"Here's your mail," she sighed, using a silver letter opener to peel away the envelope from a card, "And there's an invitation for you and a guest for your school dance."

She groaned. Loudly. It surprised her mother, who jumped back a bit and looked at her with glistening burgundy eyes.

"Eve. Please act more civilized." When her mother was cross, you could really see how old she was. The pointy cheekbones, crow's feet…her lips were so thin, now, when they used to be full and red. She used to be such a beauty.

'_And a guest,' _was ringing through the brunette's head and she pressed her fingers to her temples. She was never short of suitors who fawned over her art, but there were absolutely no decent guys she knew. She'd probably just take Mary, like she did every year, and watch men fall at her sister's feet while she leaned against a wall, drank expensive wine and went home with a boy she could never remember the name of. She was really ashamed of herself for the few weeks after that. If she knew one thing, it was that she definitely couldn't handle another art block that surely came after a one night stand.

On top of the rugby game blaring from the TV, the words rattling in her head, and the sound of her mother opening letters, the kitchen telephone screamed. Or maybe that was Eve – no, it was definitely Eve – her mother jumped up and grabbed the brunette's shoulders and her father leapt to the scene.

For a minute, she was silent, before letting out a breath.

"I'm sorry. I just really had to let that out."

And she left on her heel, her awestruck parents watching as she went back upstairs and the telephone rang again.

** OoO**

She was shopping alone, looking through a small boutique of clearance priced dresses. There were none that entirely suited her. This _was _her favorite store, and they had never failed her before on the case of buying a dress for the dance, and she wouldn't rest until she had found the perfect gown.

"Eve, is that you?" The manager stepped out from her office, spotting the head of silky brown hair from behind a rack of pink and gold dresses, a bright sign displaying '_75% Off! Buy Now!' _The brunette looked up and nodded silently.

"Oh, we just got a new shipment in and there's the perfect dress for you." The woman ushered Eve over, and the brunette followed her through the messy storage bins and crooked rows of fabric.

She was hunched over a huge box that was probably four meters long. It was full of sparkly evening gowns and Eve felt a bit of vomit come up. It was so _girly _and _sweet._ Not that Eve wasn't, but she preferred to wear things that weren't covered in ribbons and frills. The dresses had that 'Mary overkill' touch.

"This one!" The manager scooped out a black dress defiantly, showcasing it to Eve, who seemingly liked it. It was hard to tell when the solemn brunette enjoyed or disliked things because of her stony expression. "Isn't it beautiful?"

It was a mermaid gown, with a shimmery overlay, and a sweetheart bust line. Eve held out her hands and asked if she could try it on. The manager squealed and shoved her into the changing rooms.

Eve sighed and dropped the coat off of her shoulders, letting it fall in a heap at her ankles. Underneath, she'd worn a simple dress, and she unzipped it, stepping out and sliding red flats from her feet. She didn't like the way her body looked. She was skinny and her elbows were all too prominent – maybe she should gain some healthy weight. Her ribs were just visible and her collarbone jutted out like an awkward knife.

The brunette slid the dress over her shoulders, frowning when it fell loose around her bra. She'd never really had a large chest. It was there, and prominent, but it wasn't large. She hoped they would grow in when she got older. It seemed to stick in the right places, and had a flowing skirt that Eve very much enjoyed.

"I'll buy it, but it needs alterations," she called into the back room. "I need a few inches taken off the chest."

"It's four hundred and seventy seven Euros, dear. The alterations are on me this time. You're the only customer I have that has come back a second time."

"Thank you, Margaret."

The old woman just busied herself with a tape measure and scissors, humming happily.

**OoO**

Where was she? The brunette's soft ruby eyes scanned the party scene, and she ignored the few girls and boys that came to say hello to her. _She probably got lost. Now what am I supposed to do? _

Wandering towards the fringes of the party, she slinked into the shadows, watching from a safe distance for a head of blonde curls. She found none. Someone came up and offered her a glass of punch, and she accepted, only to set it down moments later as her sister came upon the scene.

She looked dazzling in an emerald green dress, the sweetheart neckline accented with small, blue rhinestones. A necklace dripping with glittering gems took up the majority of her collarbone and she had a small tiara in her updo.

"Mary," she hissed, "I've been waiting for you for a long time! Where have you been?"

The blonde waved a hand at her dismissively. "My makeup took a while. Besides, I'm not staying."

Eve let her small button mouth still, and she watched as her sister pulled up the pair of white gloves she had on. She pulled a small photograph from her clutch, handing it to her. She couldn't make out the face in the blinding light from the glistening above the ballroom, bathing the dancing people around her in a milky light.

"What is this?"

"A picture of your date. Sorry for the short notice, but I wanted it to be a surprise. Have fun! I've got a party to get to. Brandon's waiting for me."

Before Eve could protest, Mary had sunk past the rows of people swirling around each other. The brunette let her arms fall limp at her side, swerving through the crowd and back to her spot in the corner.

She lifted the photo up to her eyes. A gag strangled her for a moment. It was the exotic man from years ago, when she was small, and had spotted him, weaving through the cars.

The purple hair, soft brown eyes…they were slightly diminished from the photo's overall condition, but she could make him out. She tucked the picture into her handbag and inhaled. She wouldn't need it to find a face she'd memorized over and over.

She saw him, and a nervous sweat prickled over her skin. He was handsome in a rugged way, clad in a neat black suit and tie. He spotted her.

They started towards each other at the same time, waiting for that life-changing collision to forever enhance their lives. Their eyes never left each other. Eve pushed a girl out of the way, picking up the front of her dress so she could hurry her pace. When they were face to face, he was staring into her, looking beyond the seas of blood red he'd fallen in love with so long ago.

Eve looked into his eyes and sighed.

He offered a slim hand. "Shall we dance?"

**OoO**

I'm sorry this is so horrible. I've been writing it for a while, so it's sort of choppy, too…oh well. I love all of you~! I would like to thank all of the followers I've gotten so far, they make me feel really special and loved! I promise the next chapter will come sooner, as I have it heavily planned out. Thanks!


	4. Remembrance

**NOTE: I am so sorry for the delay! I've been drowned in homework and life problems. Here it is, your (hopefully) anticipated chapter!**

**Chapter Four: Remembrance**

Eve didn't know what to say. She was struck with the blunt end of silence as Garry twirled her around effortlessly. He was taller than before, leaner, too, and a good three or four inches ahead of Eve. His soft caramel eyes rolled over her face and hair over and over, as if he couldn't get the image to stick in his head.

His eyes stopped when they met her burgundy set. He gave a sweet sigh through his nose and took up a stray hand from her waist to brush back a lock of chocolate hair. When he returned it, Eve did the same, pushing back a curl behind his ear.

"It's been agony waiting for you," he mumbled. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Eve swallowed to dampen her suddenly dry throat. "The Fabricated World," she choked out. "What did you want me to remember about it?"

A lonesome smile danced across his lips, and he set those beautiful caramel eyes on a faraway point in the room. He looked handsome in the bright light, shadows carving out a million years of waiting on his sad face.

"It'll come to you in time."

As if on cue, a blinding headache hit the brunette, who stumbled over Garry's toes. He steadied her with his strong hands as she reeled. Her harsh breath came out in shallow gasps as a horrifying image of black marble statues chasing her down a red hall came crashing in.

"Let's get you somewhere safe, okay?"

Safe. She really wanted to be safe, in a blanket, drinking cocoa, watching soap operas or listening to music in a room sealed away from the horrors she'd seen. Hands – pasty white, clawed hands pulling her closer, leaving a long row of red streaks on her leg. She was so small. She hadn't remembered the last time she wore that red skirt and socks.

Long, graceful fingers tucked themselves her arms and lifted her away from the Lady in Red. Who was saving her? Who was her hero? The memory shifted – Eve falling down a massive black pit and onto soft ground. Littered around her were blue ragdolls and cracked forgotten white heads. The same heads she'd seen when she was in middle school were in her memories. Was that why they scared her? The beady eyes seemed to be alive, dancing with malicious light.

"Garry," she gasped, clawing at his suit, "g-get me out of here, I'm scared!"

He shushed her with his elegant fingers and loaded her onto something soft – a couch? – and she grabbed the skirt of her dress as another memory blinded her.

Candy. In her small palm she was holding a piece of lemon candy, wrapped in cellophane. She looked up, a blurry face smiling at her from beyond a wall of bookshelves. A dark coat was pooled around her legs, and her face was hot and damp with fitful sweat. Had she had a bad dream?

To her right, a landscape was speeding by, the stars in the night sky as bright as the chandelier in the ballroom. She felt something hot come up in her throat. It tasted vile, and she let it fall from her mouth and onto her dress. Garry casted a worried glance over at her before nervously adjusting his grip on the steering wheel and resuming his driving.

"Garry," she breathed, "I remember."

**OoO**

When Eve woke, she was laying in a bed with soft white sheets and a pale duvet. To her right was a small stand with a bottle of Aspirin and a glass of water with ice cubes in it. The napkin the glass was resting on was damp with condensation. She reached for the glass and took a much needed gulp. On the side of the bed was a plastic bin, like the ones they use in hospitals, with a small puddle of vomit in the bottom. Had she done that?

Looking at the puke upset her stomach again. She retched into the bin, feeling the hot waste drip from her nose and gag her until she fell onto the bed again in a fit of coughing. She heard rustling around from beyond the bedroom.

Garry was a much welcomed sight. He smiled in relief and rushed over to her, grabbing her hand and squeezing it with just enough strength to make her feel reassured. He pulled the comforter up and over her chest as she sank down into the pillow.

"You're finally awake." His voice was shaky. When Eve looked up, small drops had formed in the corners of his eyes. "I thought remembering was too much for you – you were unconscious for days, and when you were awake you were screaming or throwing up – I'm so sorry that this happened."

"You're sorry?" The tone in her voice surprised her. "Remembering is probably the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He gave a weak laugh and went to pick up her puke pan. She grabbed his wrist, embarrassed. "I'm, I think…I think I'm strong enough to clean up my own messes."

His caramel eyes danced over her, thinking, _but you don't look so good._ If she had really been out for days like he said, she probably didn't look so hot. How did she go to the bathroom? When did she eat or bathe?

Her cheeks flamed. Garry – of all people – had to nurse her like she was a baby or a decrepit old person. How embarrassing. She wondered if he had brushed her hair or changed her underwear. All the embarrassing things she didn't want Garry to have to do. She went to run her hand through her hair, but it was back in a neat braid. Her bangs were pulled into a headband.

"I hope you don't mind the hair. It was easier for you to, um, well; throw up when it was out of your face."

She blushed and looked down at herself. She was wearing a pair of blue pajama pants and an old white sweater. It smelled heavenly, like cinnamon and apples. Were these Garry's clothes? Had he bought them for her, maybe?

Garry was standing back, watching as she unloaded herself from the bed. Her knees buckled and she almost fell – Garry catching her and steadying her shaky legs before draping her arm around his shoulders and leading her back towards the bed.

"No," she protested, placing a hand on his chest, "I'm tired of lying down."

He complied with her, pulling her gently out of the dim bedroom and into a crisp kitchen. White appliances and pine cabinets matched the white washed walls. A bowl of old looking oranges was on the marble island, along with a newspaper and a dirty plate. Eve leaned against a counter while Garry rushed around, grabbing a throw pillow from the depths of the house and pulling back a barstool at the island for her to sit in. She pulled herself into the chair, and Garry propped the pillow up behind her back.

"Is there anything you need? Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm really hungry, actually. Do you have any candy?"

Garry looked at her with a blank expression before letting out a hearty laugh that broke the tension. On one of the marble counters, next to an outdated microwave, sat a small glass jar with a pink lid. He pulled of the top and grabbed a few candies, handing them to Eve.

They were small lemon drops with cellophane wrappers. She smiled to herself, popping one between her lips and watching as Garry opened the fridge and looked around for something to cook. She could see there wasn't much in the fridge. Just a gallon of milk, half a dozen eggs, some cheese, and a brown head of lettuce. When the candy hit her stomach, she blanched.

"I'm going to throw up," she cried, putting a hand over her mouth and darting for the bedroom. She fell on her hands and knees and retched into the bin. Garry followed her, rubbing her back as she released her stomach. Her back started shaking, crying from embarrassment and pain. She felt like a pathetic little kid when she wrapped her arms around Garry and he carried her back into the kitchen, grim expression on his face as he set her butt on the counter. Eve watched with blurry eyes as he searched cabinets and brought out a box of tissues and a few bottles of medicine.

He handed Eve the tissues. She wiped her bloodshot eyes and he emptied an assortment of pills into her hand. He rattled off a few fancy names of the pills, Eve half listening as she watched a bird dart back and forth in the window, landing on a branch before deciding it was uncomfortable and settling on another.

He went back to bedroom to retrieve her glass of water, leaving the brunette to solemnly look around the house. The living room was just beyond an arch, a spacious room with a cream sofa and red pillows. There were a few bookshelves, and a large painting of a flower on the wall. Next to the living room was a dining set with two chairs and a vase of dead flowers. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the furniture seemed outdated. She leaned onto the marble counter and rested her chin on her folded arms.

A moment later, Garry arrived from the bedroom holding a pile of folded clothes and a glass of water. He flashed a weak smile.

"All I have are some old clothes, I hope you don't mind."

She shook her head and loaded the clothes into her arms. It was an old striped shirt and red pajama shorts. He showed her to the bathroom, where she slipped off her warm sweater and pants.

Eve gasped. She looked sick and old. Her ribs were poking out like harsh hands trying to rip through her skin. Her collarbone was jutted at least two inches outwards, and her whole chest was sunken in. It really must've taken a lot out of her to have remembered the Fabricated World. When she dressed and found a brush in the cabinet and fixed her hair, she walked into the living room, and found that the living room was pitch black, and the darkness seemed to consume her.


	5. Abrupt

**I would like to give a special thanks to my followers, favorites, and reviewers who have supported me so far. You guys are what is making the story happen, so thank you so much! I'm sorry for not updating, my cousin recently passed away and that has been making it hard to write. Thank you for understanding. **

**Chapter Five: Abrupt**

When Eve woke again, she was asleep in the bed. It was dark outside, and she saw slivers of pale moonlight streaming in from the blinds. Garry was sprawled next to her on his stomach, reading a book. She tried not to stir so she could watch him.

His caramel eyes rolled over the words quick, in scared movements like a baby animal running from its den. He breathed a sigh of relief through his nose as he turned the page, and creased its corner, tucking the book on a nightstand and turning off the lamp. He fell onto the pillow and closed his eyes, and Eve shut hers in fear he'd open them and check if she were awake. He desperately needed sleep from watching her for such a long time.

She rolled on her side, examining the dark room. The last thing she remembered was crippling darkness swallowing her. Without intending to, she shivered, and felt Garry drape a blanket over her.

"Are you okay?" His voice was gruff and pleasantly so, and Eve turned over so she was facing him. His features looked regal and handsome, carved out in the dim light.

"Yeah," she whispered, "But you should go to sleep. How long have you been awake?"

"Probably around thirty six hours," he breathed.

She was silent for a moment. "Before you go to sleep, what am I going to do about my parents? And school?"

"I called them and said I was your friend's dad and you were going to stay with us for a while because we were moving or something. They weren't very eager but said something about it being nice you had friends now."

"Sounds like them."

"You don't have a lot of friends? I would've thought you had a lot."

"No, I'm not much of a people person. People tend to…use me a lot."

"I see." His voice was now a murmur and she could see his eyes start to slack just the littlest bit. She scooted a bit closer to him and he said, "Is it alright if I hold you while I sleep?"

She nodded and he pulled her up against his chest. He smelled nice, like cologne and soap, and she could feel his dull heartbeat against her cheek. His muscles rippled across her face as he adjusted her head and laid it so it was resting on his outstretched arm. She wondered nervously if her head was too heavy.

How had they gone from him being her nurse to cuddling in bed like this?

His lips brushed across her temple. She flinched and blushed; trying to awkwardly scoot closer to him so he would get the idea she wanted him to kiss her again. This time, his mouth moved a little lower and she could feel his warm flesh just touch her eyelid.

Before she knew it, their lips had connected and her heart had jumped into her throat. Eve wasn't one to be nervous around men – she'd had plenty of experience, after all – but kissing someone she was actually _attracted _to left her whole body quaking with excitement and tingling with the rush of adrenaline.

She wanted more.

Their lips parted, tongues slowly, sleepily exploring each other, hazy and lustful. Eve could feel her cheeks growing hot as the kiss deepened. Garry's hand ran up her bony side, causing an attack of goose bumps to dominate the pale plain. Her hand went to return the gesture, feeling his soft skin and tiny hairs on his stomach. He shivered and pulled back with his lips tight and eyebrows creased.

"I can't." He swallowed. "I just can't."

"Why not? Is it because I'm sick, because I swear I feel better – "

"It's not you. It's just…" His caramel eyes darted around nervously, pulling away from her.

"You're not attracted to me? Is that it?" She started to feel a painful lump twisting in her throat.

"Mary. It's Mary. I can't fall in love with you because of Mary."

Fat tears slipped down her cheeks. "But I just got you back. I don't want her to control us before we can even do anything about it."

He pulled her head into his chest. "Garry?" Her words were muffled in his chest, "Can we just have tonight, then?" He swallowed, nodded, and pressed his soft lips to her forehead.

**I apologize again for the impossibly long wait. I promise the next chapter will be updated soon. **


End file.
